Chapter 114
CHAPTER 1
Isla sat motionless in the farthest corner of the church, as if retreating into the shadows could somehow shield her from the weight of it all. She avoided every gaze, spoke not a word, and barely moved—an island of stillness amidst a sea of mourners. Her eyes, hollow and rimmed red, clung to the coffin at the front of the sanctuary. She watched as strangers and acquaintances alike shuffled forward to say their final goodbyes to Robert Lancaster.
Robert. Her stepfather. Her father in every way that mattered. The man with the kind, steady eyes and the laughter that could light up the darkest corners of her soul. He had loved her in ways her biological parents never had. Robert had been so much more than a name or a face. A successful businessman. A compassionate philanthropist. Her protector. Her anchor. And now he was gone.
Nineteen-year-old Isla, naive in her faith that the world was predictable and fair, had never imagined him as anything but invincible. How could she? The man who had carried her through life’s storms, who had stayed when everyone else had left, was supposed to be permanent. She never dreamed this day would come, that she’d be sitting here, drowning in a grief so profound it left her breathless.
Her biological father had died in a freak skiing accident before she could form any real memories of him. Her mother, Margaret Hawthorne, had remarried quickly, bringing Robert into their lives. Margaret had been young, beautiful, and fragile, a widow at 28, and Isla—just a little girl—had readily embraced Robert as her father. When Margaret passed away a few years later, everyone assumed Robert would send Isla off to some distant relative. After all, she wasn’t his blood.
But he didn’t. He chose her.
He chose to love a deaf, four-year-old girl with no one else in the world. From that moment, Robert became everything to her: her rock, her comfort, her unwavering constant. Isla clung to him, to his steady presence, his patient hands that signed words of love, his warm embrace that shielded her from a world that often felt too harsh.
And now, he was gone.
It felt stupid, naive even, to have believed he’d always be there. But she had. Deep down, she’d built her whole world on the foundation of his permanence. And now, that foundation had crumbled, leaving her adrift in a sea of uncertainty. The future stretched out before her like a void, cold and indifferent.
A lump swelled in her throat as tears spilled over her cheeks, hot and unrelenting. She wiped them away hastily, only to feel the weight of judgment radiating from the woman seated beside her. Isla felt the prickle of the woman’s disapproving stare, her tight-lipped dismay directed at the girl who hadn’t even bothered to dress in black for the funeral.
It wasn’t deliberate. Isla hadn’t thought about what she was wearing—how could she? The weight of the morning had pressed down on her chest, smothering her, making it impossible to care about anything as trivial as clothes. She had pulled on the same worn skinny jeans and loose T-shirt she had been wearing at home for days.
And yet, it mattered to the world. It mattered to strangers who didn’t know that she felt like she was suffocating, that every breath felt like a betrayal because it meant she was still here, and he wasn’t. It mattered to people who didn’t know that her grief was so vast, it had swallowed her whole.
The murmurs of the service blurred into a low hum, her mind drifting. She didn’t belong here, in this world of condolences and polite mourning. Her grief was raw, untamed, and consuming. She wanted to scream, to rage against the cruelty of it all. But instead, she sat in silence, the pain carving deep trenches in her soul, knowing that when the service was over, she would walk out of this church utterly, irrevocably alone.
The final eulogy was being delivered. Isla barely registered the words anymore; they washed over her like a distant hum, muted and meaningless. Her focus was elsewhere—on the casket that would soon be lowered into the earth. The inevitability of it sat heavy on her chest, a weight so oppressive it felt like she might crumble under it.
He was already gone—she knew that. The moment his heart stopped beating, Robert Lancaster had left this world. But the thought of his body being sealed away in the cold, unfeeling ground broke her into a million pieces. It was so final, so absolute. And perhaps it hurt most because she knew that when the last handful of dirt was thrown, her right to grieve would be taken from her too.
Society would move on. They always did. And they would expect her to do the same. They’d tell her it was time to be strong, to pick herself up, to find a way forward. But forward to what? To whom? Her family was gone. Every single one of them.
A faint murmur swept through the gathered mourners, pulling Isla from her spiraling thoughts. She looked up just as Graham Lancaster stepped onto the dais. The room shifted, as if the very air had changed. People who had been sitting passively suddenly leaned forward, their attention sharpening. Even the priest craned his neck slightly, as though unwilling to miss a single word.
Graham Lancaster.
Robert’s son. His real son. The heir to everything, though he had built a fortune of his own that eclipsed even his father’s. At 35, Graham was a self-made billionaire, his name splashed across headlines and magazine covers. His world was one of glittering skyscrapers and high-stakes boardrooms, of champagne-soaked galas and whispered scandals. She had read about him—about his luxurious life in New York, the billion-dollar company he’d created, and the women who drifted in and out of his orbit like passing seasons. One would leave, and another would arrive, each one more dazzling than the last.
Even now, one of them sat in the front pew—a red-haired beauty with a presence so striking it was almost impossible to look away. Her nails, painted a vivid, almost gaudy crimson, clutched Graham’s arm possessively. Isla watched her for a moment, her delicate features, her calculated movements, the way she leaned into him with the confidence of someone who believed she belonged at his side.
She tore her gaze away, ashamed of the inadequacy that twisted in her stomach.
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